prologue
Luna
10 years old
It was my third foster home since I could remember. Before that, it was the group home—the loud one with the bunk beds and the smell of bleach that never really went away.
He didn’t smile much, the man who picked me up. Just nodded and carried my duffel bag through the house, his boots making heavy thuds on the hardwood. I followed behind him, clutching the folder they gave me. It had my name on it, written in big, block letters.
We passed a living room with too many pillows. A kitchen that smelled like toast. Down a hallway, passed two closed doors, and then he stopped in front of one that was slightly open.
“This one’s yours,” he said, pushing it open all the way.
The room was small, but it had its own bed. A dresser. A tiny desk in the corner with a lamp. The walls were bare, and the comforter was folded perfectly.
“All mine?” I asked, blinking up at him.
He gave a short nod. “Yep. Dinner’s at six.”
Then he left.
I stood in the doorway, still holding the folder, too scared to step inside.
“You got a private?”
The voice came from behind me. I turned fast, startled.
A boy stood in the doorway—probably ten, maybe eleven, with dark, shaggy hair that looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in a while. His shirt was a size too big, hanging off one shoulder, and there was a tear near the collar. His jeans were stained at the knees, socks mismatched and threadbare. He looked rough around the edges but there was a brightness in his eyes.
“I’m Jer,” he said, like we’d been friends forever. “You must be new.”
I nodded. “I’m Luna.”
He peeked past me into the room, whistled low under his breath. “Wow. He mustreallylike you. Rest of us gotta share.”
I blinked at him, confused. “How many are there?”
Jer shrugged like it didn’t matter. “Six, maybe seven right now? Depends if Mikey comes back. He runs off a lot.”
Seven.
Seven kids and I had a room alone.
I stepped into the room, fingers tightening around the folder. Jer leaned against the doorframe, watching me with curiosity, like he was already trying to figure me out.
“I’ll show you where the cereal is later,” he said casually.
“Okay.”
“You talk more than one word?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
“Oh wow, that wastwo,” he said, grinning like he’d just discovered something rare. I smiled a little and ducked my head as I walked farther into the room. My sneakers scuffed the floor as I made my way to the bed. I dropped my bag, my one bag, the only thing I owned, and started shuffling through it even though I didn’t need anything.
He didn’t move from the doorway.
“Why do I have a room alone?” I asked quietly.
